


the good news

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: The Outer Rim [27]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode 2x08, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: After the events of The Rescue, Din shares the good news with an old friend.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Kuiil
Series: The Outer Rim [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055645
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	the good news

Nevarran lava dust clings to his boots, the blackened ash settling on the leather like an old embrace. How long has it been?

He isn’t sure. Months and seasons, even years, never meant much to him before. Hard to bind himself to the follies of a single sun when his ship tripped among so many stars. Though he has a different ship now, a sterile hollow thing, and his travels trace tangled trails throughout the Rim.

The dust clouds around his feet with every step, finely powdered glass.

He doesn’t know why he’s come back here. (A lie, of course.) There are excuses he could tell himself, logic and reason twisted around to _mean_ something in a galaxy that increasingly makes very little sense. He could say he’s come back to see ~~friends~~ allies. He could believe he’s returned to look for others of his kind ~~though they left this place long ago~~. He could tell himself stories. He’s gotten rather good at them, though it’s a skill that now serves little use.

_Bedtime stories every night, the kid’s face scrunching with indignation if he forgot, claws tapping happily against the beskar plating the back of his hand --_

He stops. Crouches beside the cairn, cloak dragging in the dust. 

He has no need for stories now. The truth will do. After all, there is no one here to see him, no one stopping him from speaking. The empty lava fields, obsidian dried in shards under a pale sun, stretch far to the horizon. The wind sings over the flats and its voice is an eerie, wanting cry. It shrieks, and the land bears it.

The wind throws itself against him, a fierce drubbing force that batters at his cowardice. He opens his mouth, closes it again. He wishes that he could remember how to form words, how to join his voice to something greater than himself. Once the Creed carried him, the Way writ in word and blood. But holy Mando’a tastes of ashes, now. 

He lays his hand against the stones of the cairn. His touch is light without beskar to weigh it down, and the stones are solid and sure beneath his calloused palm.

He inhales dust and powdered glass, skin prickling in the wind. His eyes burn. 

“Thank you, Kuiil. He’s safe now,” Din rasps. “I thought that you should know.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's crying times for all ;______;


End file.
